


Crystal

by BeyondFandoms



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Child Abuse, Dissociative Identity Disorder, M/M, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Therapy, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 20:49:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17926103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeyondFandoms/pseuds/BeyondFandoms
Summary: An exploration of early childhood trauma and its effects on all aspects of Harry (and co.)'s life.





	1. Fire Glass - I

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Unlike most DID fics on this site, this one's actually written by someone with DID! If you've got any questions about DID, feel free to ask them in the comments or on [Tumblr](https://hogwartsfemme.tumblr.com) (where you can ask anonymously if you'd like)!
> 
> ~Tai

Once something is broken, it will never be the same again. You can put all the pieces back together just like they were before, but now there will be cracks between the pieces. It's never quite the same as it was before, and you can never undo what's been done to it. Harry supposed he was like that. He felt like he was shattered glass, like he was the shards of a mirror that had been punched through. To be fair, he always felt like that after therapy, at least on the days he was out for it. He pondered idly what Dr Blue would say if he told her that's how therapy made him feel, but he felt it wasn't really worth it to bring up. Besides, he wouldn't want to come off as _rude_. The anxiety of having to see her after that, just _knowing_ she'd secretly think he was rude and awful — even if she didn't say so — was overwhelming. _Best to keep that to myself_ , Harry thought as he ducked into an alley and Apparated to his flat.

Harry was quite surprised when he walked in to find Ron sat on his couch, looking rather annoyed and as if he'd been waiting a long time. Harry was more than used to coming home to an empty flat — much to the Daily Prophet's surprise. It seemed even after the war, they'd nothing better to do than find every little detail they could about Harry to report on. Naturally, invasive questions about his romantic conquests had been the first topic of public discussion once war talk had died down. Everyone had been so focused on how he and Ginny were getting along, always bombarding them with questions. In the end, it had been Ginny who ended their relationship. She'd said she just wanted even one day where she wasn't bombarded with questions about _him_ , it was long past just being tiring. Harry couldn't agree more on that front, but had felt it would be inappropriate to say as much. Regardless, he'd honestly been glad the relationship was over. Harry couldn't really say why, but he just didn't feel the spark with her that he'd had — or at least he'd _thought_ he had — before. Sometimes he really questioned if he'd ever felt it in the first place...

" _Finally_ ," Ron said in an exasperated manner, interrupting Harry's — albeit rather derailed — train of thought, "I was beginning to think you'd never come home."

"How long've you been waiting?" Harry asked, then, "Y'know, mate, most people at least ring or send a message before they come over their friend's place."

"Hermione _did_ send you one, and you never responded."

"Oh? Must've been while I was busy. I had my phone on silent while I was out."

"Harry, you already know I only understand half of the words you just said. The least you could do is put it in layman's terms for me."

"Mate, I really don't know how I'm gonna explain silencing a phone to a wizard," Harry replied, shaking his head. "Get 'Mione to do it, I'm sure she won't mind."

Harry made a move to head for the kitchen. Ron reached out and grabbed his arm. "Where were you that you couldn't respond?"

"Why does it matter?"

"You've been doing this more and more often. You just... disappear. For hours at a time. Every week."

"I'm an adult, I do what I want," Harry replied simply, though it seemed Ron wasn't having that.

"Everyone's noticing, Harry. People are asking a lot of questions. Even worse, people are coming up with a lot of answers."

Harry sighed, defeated. "What kind of answers?"

"Everything under the sun. Some people think you're out seeing someone and you're trying to keep them a secret." Ron's voice upturned at the end of his sentence, and he raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"I'm not seeing anyone," Harry replied dismissively. "Next theory?"

"I personally agree with those who're saying you've just gone mad. Otherwise, why would you be so secretive, _especially_ to your own best friend?"

"Have you or anyone else ever considered that just _maybe_ , not every detail of my life is everyone's business?"

"Well obviously we _considered_ it, then we all collectively decided that was a dumb thought and carried on as we were before." Ron smiled then, and Harry couldn't really help but smile back. Harry hoped this meant Ron was going to drop the subject now. It didn't matter how many times Ron asked, Harry wasn't going to give a direct answer.

When Ron looked at him expectantly, the question still obviously on his mind, Harry gave a noncommittal, "Don't worry about it, all right? It's nothing that concerns you anyway."

"Really?" Ron questioned. "Because sorry, mate, I'm _very_ concerned. You've never been this secretive about anything and it really worries me, and 'Mione too."

It wasn't that Harry was  _ashamed_ of needing therapy, he really wouldn't mind telling his friends under normal circumstances. Except Harry felt like there were _never_ normal circumstances in his life. He supposed being famous does that to you, makes you paranoid that no matter where you are, someone's always watching, always listening. Surely if he ever got it up to tell his friends he's been in therapy, the Prophet would be all over it. He wasn't quite sure _how_  exactly, but that didn't really matter. He just knew Rita Skeeter and her colleagues always found a way into his business, and he wasn't going to let them in on this part. Sometimes it felt like the only place he was safe from paparazzi was at his flat, and it was moments like these — coming home to unexpected "visitors" — that made even home feel unsafe. Besides, if he told Ron and Hermione about therapy, they'd want to know why he was in it, what he talked about there, and they'd always be checking over his shoulder like he couldn't take care of himself. He loved his friends, but Harry knew himself well enough to be sure he wouldn't be able to deal with them breathing down his neck all the time, and he honestly didn't have the energy to do all that explaining anyway.

"Seriously, don't worry about it," Harry conceded. "I just don't wanna share it, okay? I'll tell you guys when I'm ready. Anyway, you never did tell me what is was you wanted so badly you turned up at my flat uninvited."

"You forgot again, huh?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Y'know, it's that time of the month again, where just about everyone who's anyone from our year goes out for a drink..."

"Fuck," Harry swore under his breath. "Yeah, I forgot again. Sorry about that, I really should set a reminder. Keep it on a calendar or something." Ron didn't reply, only looked at Harry expectantly. "What?"

"Well are you coming or no, mate?"

"Oh, yeah, sure. Just let me change—"

Ron grabbed Harry's arm. "You're fine, let's go!"

* * *

Harry hated clubs. Something about the noise and the flashing lights and all the moving bodies in far too close proximity just really put him on edge. He'd never tell anyone else that, though. This was the only real way he got to spend time with his friends anymore and he definitely wasn't going to jeopardize that. So once a month, he forced himself to weather the storm of overstimulation, if only to say he at least got out of the house for something other than therapy or grocery shopping.

It wasn't just that everything was overwhelming. What really made these nights rough on Harry was that they were overwhelming and overstimulating. Overwhelming, overstimulating, and disorienting. It felt almost impossible to focus on conversation, it's like the speakers are always turned to max. It's hard to hear anything unless someone screams it directly in your ear, and even then it's hit or miss. Lucky for him, it seemed that tonight everyone was content to leave him be, nursing a Jim and Coke — or three. It was after this third drink that Luna grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him onto the dance floor.

"What are you doing?!" Harry shouted over the music.

" _You_ are not having fun and  _that_ is a problem!" Luna yelled in response.

"Sorry, but I think I'm gonna need a  _lot_ more than three drinks if you want me dancing in public."

"Nope, you'll be fine! It's time to let loose for a change!"

Harry really wished people would stop trying to tell him he was fine. If they could see inside his head for even a second, they'd know he's absolutely  _not_ fine and he honestly almost never  _was_. Still, Harry didn't feel like he could say no to Luna. After all, he never got up and joined any of his friends on the dance floor. He wondered idly if all his friends thought he was kind of a buzzkill, never joining them for what they considered to be "the fun part" of going out. Harry let Luna push and pull him along, and did his best to convincingly pretend like he was actually having a good time.

In reality, everything felt at least a hundred times more overwhelming on the dance floor. He felt trapped and hot, sweating from exertion and anxiety. The flashing lights coming from the stage and the ceiling hurt his eyes and made it hard to see. The music was so loud, he felt the bass throbbing through him as if  _he_ was the speaker. No matter where he looked, he saw nothing but people dancing, squished up so close together he couldn't see any kind of exit. It felt like at every second, the bodies writhing against each other and around him were pressing closer and closer. And they must have been, because the next thing Harry knew, he was being pulled away from Luna and towards some random girl who looked like she was maybe trying to flirt with him. The girl said something to him, but Harry couldn't really hear her over the music, and she didn't seem to be much of one for repeating herself.

She pulled Harry by the arms, bringing his body flush against hers. Harry took a deep breath, hoping to steady and ground himself before he made a fool of himself in public. Harry decided she must be wearing too much perfume, because even when he held his breath to try and stop the scent, it felt like he was still breathing it in. She smelled like a scented candle. He wasn't sure what the scent was exactly, but it smelled just like the ones his Aunt Petunia had always been burning at home. The more he breathed in the perfume, the dizzier he felt. His mind was being flooded with images he couldn't stop. He felt like he couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe and he was going to pass out and when did his heartbeat get so fast?

Harry felt like he was five years old. Maybe he was. He was five years old and Aunt Petunia had a wooden spoon — a weapon of opportunity, but a weapon nonetheless. He was terrified, terrified, and it was all his fault. He was a bad child and that's why Aunt Petunia was going to hit him. He deserved it, she always said so. She made sure he knew that. Harry was shaking all over, the noise and flashing lights of the club were doing nothing to pull him from the flashbacks. It felt like being in and out of two different realities that were trying to to make him live both at the same time.

He managed to gain just enough control of himself to roughly shove the girl away from him. He forced his way through the mass of people on the dance floor and made a beeline for the toilets. He locked himself into the disabled stall, and sat on the floor, holding his knees to his chest and rocking back and forth again. All he wanted right now was to disappear, for the ground to swallow him up so he'll never have to think or feel or relive anything ever again.

 _Just breathe_ , said a voice from inside his head. Gentle, feminine. Must be Izzy, Harry concluded absently.

 _I can't_ , he replied internally.

_You can. I know it does not seem like it, but everything is going to be all right. We are safe now. We can go home if we need to, or I can take over for you, or both._

_I think you should take over. I don't want to be here. I don't want any of this!_

_That is all right, love. Just take deep breaths; I am here. I am here and you no longer have to be._

 

 


	2. Tourmaline - II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: As this chapter is from the point of view of a protector alter, it was also written by a protector alter. My apologies for the differences in my and Tai's writing style, though I believe this is what makes this story unique. It is a group effort, and will continue to be as it develops.
> 
> ~Azrael

First things first, I think as a calm feeling washes over me, we must remove ourself from the situation. It will do us no good to remain in a stressful environment. I am aware of how Harry normally removes himself from uncomfortable situations, but I cannot perform as he does. Magic is a complex thing, and I rarely was present during our lessons. It is best not to risk the dangers of magical travel, but it will be difficult exiting the club without being seen. Still, I must at least make an attempt; it does us a great disservice to remain longer than strictly necessary. I cautiously exit the bathroom, checking to ascertain that no one with whom he is acquainted is watching for us.

I maneuver carefully around the dance floor and all the tables, attempting to blend in with passers-by. As I emerge from the club and into the night, I am aware of one thing: I have not the foggiest idea of how I am to get home from here. I have never been out on "club night" and have never been - wherever  _here_ is - before. I walk the block, hoping to find a cab service running late. It takes a bit more walking, but eventually I find a driver for the night. I give them my address and watch the city going by through the window as we drive off. Some part of me does feel bad for leaving everyone behind with no notice, but they would not understand my current predicament anyway. I did what I must to keep us safe, and that is all that matters at the moment.

Eventually, we arrive at my flat. I am glad to finally be home, where I can relax. I make a mental list of things I must get done tonight: take a shower, have some dinner, leave a note for Harry about bringing up tonight in therapy. As I shower, I contemplate what might be said if Harry chooses to heed my advice. I am uncertain he is aware enough of himself or of our traumas to understand fully what triggered him tonight. I ponder idly if he even knows what those memories were. I am not entirely sure that I do, but I have an idea, and it is not a good one. I understand this will be difficult for him, uncovering previously suppressed memories often is, but I fear that if it is not dealt with shortly, things will only get worse for him. One can only ignore an issue for so long before it blows up in one's face, after all. I make a note for him after finishing my shower:

_Tell Dr Blue of what happened tonight. I am aware you do not enjoy discussing newly discovered traumas with anyone, but she is here to help. You will have to trust her with this. You cannot wait as you did the last time. Of course, it is entirely up to you, but I am called a "protector" for a reason. At least give it some thought, all right?  ~Izzy_

* * *

Harry does not front the next morning. Or the morning after that. Or the one after that. He does not front on Monday either. His friends send many messages wondering about him, and i give simple answers to stave them off. I do not wish to expend the effort it takes to pretend to be him for longer than it takes to send a few messages; I have much more important things I must be doing. Since Harry has yet to return, I am the one going to see Dr Blue. I do not mind; she is a kind enough woman. Harry is naturally distrustful of others, and has a hard time opening up about his issues. It is why Dr Blue is always so thrilled for one of the rest of us to be out, I believe. Those of us who do not live in denial tend to be very open to discussing things with her. Even if it is not trauma-related, she says it is helpful to get to know us and what we find important to discuss, that she can better help us if she knows what we each want to achieve with her.

It is different for each of us, I believe. Harry just wants to be functional, I simply want whatever is best for all of us. Some of the others wish to pursue integration, the children find the idea terrifying. For all we have to share, we each have very different goals. I am still not certain how Dr Blue expects to appease all of us when some goals are in direct conflict with others, but I am willing to do whatever she feels we must to make things work.

Dr Blue smiles when she sees me. "Hello, Izzy!" she greets brightly. I would never admit this aloud, but it does bring me joy that she recognizes those of us she has met. I know it is just that she has learned our clothing styles and manners of speech, but it still is nice to feel recognized.

"Hello, doctor," I reply. "My apologies for Harry's absence today."

"No need to apologize; I'm glad to see you again! How have you been?"

"Adequate. Yourself?"

"Oh, I'm doing just fine!" Dr Blue pauses a moment. "Is something on your mind? You're much more curt today than usual."

"Apologies. I worry for Harry is all."

"Oh? Has something happened?"

I sigh. There is never an easy way to broach troubling topics. "He got triggered while out with friends this weekend, and I have not heard from him since I took over. I am unsure as to whether he fully understood what was even happening at the time other than a panic attack."

She gives me a sympathetic look. "I know that's very tough on you, especially when the system as a whole seems to rely heavily on his being present often. Can you tell me more about what happened, if you know at all?"

"I was present long enough to be aware something triggered a flashback to things his aunt Petunia has done. I am not entirely sure how we got there, as I only came around when I sensed distress, but it appeared as though what triggered it was the girl he was with. What it was about her, I do not know, but something of her reminded him enough of those bad memories to bring them back. I do not think he saw them fully for what they were though, I believe he more experienced the emotional side of things. Still, it was enough to leave him very panicked and shaken."

Dr Blue nods. "I can imagine so. Do you think that maybe the influx of new memories overwhelmed him so much he's decided to take a break for a little while?"

"Perhaps. I am aware he could not possibly have planned for this but-" I sigh again, this time in exasperation- "I simply wish there was a way to know for sure when he will return. It is tiring being at the front for so long. I am not used to this, and I do not know how much longer I can keep it up."

"What about switching with one of the others? While Harry's away, they could help hold down the fort, so to speak."

"That would be nice, but all I have heard from them so far is, how you say... radio silence?"

"I see. That must be very frustrating. It sounds like what we need to work out then is some ways for you to cope while you're frontstuck." Dr Blue tears a sheet from her notepad to write on. "First off, let's try to find things that can calm you when you start to feel overwhelmed. I know masking yourself as Harry to his friends and coworkers can be very draining and strenuous, so it'll be good to have a go-to list of ways to wind down. What are some things you find calming?"

I ponder this for a moment. "'[Hymn of the Cherubim](https://clockworkcollective.tumblr.com/post/185126824482/pyotr-ilyich-tchaikovsky-hymn-of-the-cherubim),'" I reply. "It is perhaps the only positive fronting trigger I have. It is my favorite thing to listen to; it is beautiful and reminds me of home."

I do not expect her to understand what I mean by that, but she nods as if she does and makes note of it on her paper. "Good, that's good. What else?"

I try to think on other things I enjoy. Rarely am I fronting long enough to warrant interests outside of self-preservation, but I suppose there are things I do enjoy. "Videos about angels. But not the regular ones, more the slightly off-putting stories you hear in YouTube videos."

Every word of that sentence felt strange to say. I've never claimed to understand the technology Harry relies on so much, but I did learn one late night that there are many very interesting stories people will share with them. I suppose the darker ones should not be so calming to me, but I take solace in the knowledge that it is simply amusement and nothing tangible.

Dr Blue makes another note on her paper. "Any others?" I merely shake my head in response. "All right then. I think we've at least got a good start here, Izzy. If you start to feel to overwhelmed or stressed, try turning to one of these as a coping mechanism." She hands me the paper with her notes on it. "And if things get too bad, please don't hesitate to call. I know you already know this, but I'm here to help you, and I'll do what I can to make sure you're all safe."

I manage a rare smile for her. "Thank you, doctor. I am glad we were able to discuss these issues."

"So am I. And do me a little favor: When Harry comes back, let him know it's okay if he wants to talk about it, too."

"I will," I tell her. I leave her office that day feeling more prepared for whatever lies ahead, and more relaxed than I have since I came to the front.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions about DID, this story, or our system, feel free to ask them in the comments or on [ our Tumblr](https://clockworkcollective.tumblr.com) (where you may ask anonymously if you would like).

**Author's Note:**

> [Kudos] and [Comments] are appreciated!


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